


and sore must be the storm

by seraphina_snape



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Allison Argent, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Episode Related, Episode Spoiler: Teen Wolf 3x11, First Time, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/pseuds/seraphina_snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Full summary contains spoilers for Teen Wolf 3x11 - Alpha Pact!) ...Stiles and his friends and Derek and his pack must face the alpha pack and the darach on the night of the lunar eclipse. Can they survive both? [Starts right after 3x11 ends and plays out an AU version of 3x12.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	and sore must be the storm

**Author's Note:**

> **Full summary:** With Scott's, Allison's and Stiles' parents in the hands of the darach, Scott at Deucalion's side and Derek without his alpha powers, Stiles and his friends and Derek and his pack must face the alpha pack and the darach on the night of the lunar eclipse. Can they survive both? 
> 
> **Notes:** Many, many thanks go to [Mizzy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/works) & [theron09](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theron09/pseuds/theron09) for the super fast beta. You're both amazing and helped me make this story a million times better than it was. ♥ Any remaining mistakes are totally on me. 
> 
> I wrote this without even watching the preview because I didn't want to be influenced by it. I did watch it after writing this story and think we can safely assume this is not at all be what really happens next Monday. So please consider this story a canon-divergent AU - I've already tagged it as such.
> 
> The title comes from the poem [Hope is the thing with feathers](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171619) by Emily Dickinson.
> 
>  **Edit:** See notes at the end if you're concerned about the "minor character death" tag. Be aware that this will spoil part of the story though.

Lydia's hands on his shoulders were like beacons of fire in the ice bath. Stiles kept his eyes closed and concentrated on trying not to struggle.

He was trying to drown himself _on purpose_.

The urge to laugh hysterically rose up his chest and a few bubbles of air escaped his nose. Stiles froze, his hand gripping his dad's badge so tightly that the hard edges of the six-point star dug painfully into his skin. He concentrated all of his thoughts on the rough edge of the badge, the small fissures in the metal where it had cracked from being brutally bent and then carefully hammered out, the way it gleamed in the sunlight or reflected the red and blue lights of a police cruiser. He thought about his dad: strong and stoic until he cracked and lost his temper, exasperated with Stiles when he failed to stay focused during his tutoring sessions, but smiling at the way Tara put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot at Stiles.

His racing heartbeat calmed down a little until all Stiles could hear was the slow beat of his heart and the blood rushing through his veins, shot through with echoes of his dad's voice. Stiles breathed out the last of his air and—

—his eyes snapped open.

 

*

But Stiles isn't in an ice cold bath in Dr. Deaton's animal clinic, being held under water by Lydia.

He's at the hospital, room 316. The oncology ward. His mom's hospital room. He's eight years old, sitting at his mother's deathbed and hoping desperately for his dad to get there. His mom has a loose grip on his hand. She's too weak to grab anything too tightly; she can't hold a glass of water or anything heavier than a pen for more than a minute.

His mom makes a pained sound and breathes out slowly. Her next breath is labored and it sounds like she's choking on the air. His mom's hand blindly reaches for the button - it's the one that makes her pain go away, Stiles knows - but she can't reach it. So he reaches across her and pushes the button. His mom smiles at him, lips pale and cracked, and Stiles wishes she could be healthy again and look like she used to, with curly brown hair and rosy cheeks and a wide smile. Instead, she has a soft fuzz on her head where the hair has just begun to grow again and there's a tube going into her nose and needles in her arms and she's so pale that you could hardly see her face on the white pillowcase.

Suddenly his mom looks at him and says something, but she's so weak that she can't even manage a whisper. She's just moving her lips and no sound is coming out, but Stiles can see that she's saying something about his father. And then 'I love you' - he can recognize that easily because they've all been saying it a lot lately. "I love you, too, Mom," Stiles says. His mom smiles again and squeezes his hand, and then her grip goes slack and one of the machines in the room starts beeping. —

 

*

Stiles recognizes the root cellar even though he's never been here before. The sprawling mess of roots that take up most of the underground space is exactly like Lydia's drawing.

The Nemeton.

Stiles can't see his dad or Scott's mom or Chris, but there's a huddled figure sitting between the roots of the tree. Stiles walks closer and realizes it's not one figure, it's two. A boy, maybe a little younger than him, with a girl of around the same age in his arms. She's clutching at the boy's arms and he holds her tighter, almost crushing her.

Stiles blinks. No, the boy _is_ crushing her, squeezing until the girl goes slack and lifeless in his arms. With a sob, the boy looks up and his eyes glow blue. Stiles gasps. It's Derek, a fifteen-year-old Derek, making the first sacrifice to the Nemeton. The girl must be Paige then, Stiles knows, and he watches as Derek rocks her body back and forth, tears running down his cheeks.

One of Paige's arms hangs down, and from her fingertips drips black blood onto the roots of the tree. Instead of running along the curve of the root and dripping to the floor, however, the blood is soaked up by the roots, taken in by the tree. Giving new life to the Nemeton.

*

He's on a street. It's raining and visibility is practically zero. But there's a dark shape ahead and Stiles goes closer. It's a car, turned over and smoking despite the rain. He can hear voices from the other side and when he rounds the corner he sees a girl about his age, reaching out through the broken window. She has shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, wet with blood and rain. She's trapped, crushed, and there's blood on the side of her face and on her lips. Kneeling next to the car is his dad in his uniform. He's speaking into his radio, urgently and worried. Stiles can't understand the words; they sound distorted and slow, like he's listening through a wall or from inside a pool of water. It's not his memory, Stiles realizes.—

 *

—Deaton's office is an odd mix of veterinary textbooks, pictures of happy pet owners and their pets and magical reference books and ingredients. Stiles has been in the office several times, but this isn't one of his memories either.

Deaton is sitting at his desk, head in his hands, with an open book in front of him. Deaton raises his head, rubs his fingers over his eyes and tiredly reaches down to close the book. His fingers linger on the cover. Stiles steps a little closer, but there is no title on the cover. Instead there's the drawing of a tree - the druid tree in all its glory, roots _and_ crown - that Deaton's fingertips are tracing gently.

There is a faint glow around the edges of Deaton's iris, but before Stiles can take a closer look, Deaton takes his hand off the book and stands up. Whatever glow there has been in Deaton's eyes is gone.—

 *

—A nurse bustles into the room and sends him outside. He watches as more nurses and the doctor arrive. They come out a bit later and one of the nurses asks him about his dad. Stiles shrugs. His dad is supposed to be here, but he's a cop and they can't always be on time.

They won't let him back into the room, and send him to the waiting room. Stiles isn't stupid. He knows his mom is sick enough that she won't get better again. When he asks the nurse if his mom is dead, she says 'Oh, honey' and hugs him.

Stiles stays in the waiting room where they put him. He can't even cry. He needs to be strong until his dad gets there. He needs to be strong to tell his dad what happened with mom. He needs to be strong. Stiles buries his head in his hands and waits.

*

Stiles can see himself, Derek, Peter and Scott in the distance. They're at the hospital; it's the night before. Jennifer is running down a dark corridor, breathing hard, her feet unsteady on the linoleum floor. She reaches the elevator and frantically pushes the button, looking over her shoulder the entire time.

The elevator doors open and Jennifer hurries inside, hitting the button for the parking garage. She presses herself against the back of the elevator car, hands flat on the mirrored steel wall. The doors open and Jennifer steps out. But Kali and Deucalion are waiting at the end of the hallway. Jennifer gasps and draws back as Kali charges.

The elevator doors close agonizingly slowly. Kali manages to grab the doors before they close completely and starts pushing them open again.

Jennifer takes a fortifying breath and suddenly her eyes glow white. She raises her hands and _pushes_ and suddenly Stiles is in Kali's place, looking right at Jennifer. Jennifer's eyes wink out and turn back to brown. At the same time, Stiles' vision floods white, brighter than the brightest light.

 *

—The sacrifice is working. He's connected to the Nemeton. It's showing him what he needs to find his father. It's his father's memory.

His dad keeps shaking his head at the girl in the car, refusing something. She sobs, grabbing his dad's arm with her free hand and starts talking. The words are indistinct, but whatever it is doesn't seem to move his dad. He pats her hand, checks in over the radio again and smiles at the girl. She throws her head back and screams.

The spoken words might have been fuzzy and indistinct, but the scream was loud and clear, echoing in Stiles' head. It sets him on edge, sending fire down to the ends of his nerves and back up his spine. It reminds him of—

*

The loft is dimly lit and empty apart from what is left of the Hale family. Cora, sweat-soaked and shivering, is lying on Derek's bed, tossing and turning fitfully. Derek sits at her side, his face a mask of concern and pain. Peter watches them both from the foot of the bed.

Derek reaches out and grabs Cora's hand in his. His veins turn black as he siphons off her pain. Stiles frowns when Derek starts to gasp and breathe hard, the hand that isn't touching her is clenched in pain, claws digging into his palm. Cora's eyes fly open.

Derek throws his head back and roars, and Stiles can hear it clearly. The roar rattles down to his bones and sends shivers up his spine. Derek still has his head thrown back, mouth open, when the red around his iris fades and his eyes glow a clear, cold blue again.

*

—Lydia.

* * *

Derek gasped, feeling the last tendrils of pain snake up his arms. He felt sore, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with his physical body and everything to do with his spirit and his magic. His spark, as Peter had called it. He didn't need a mirror to know that his eyes were once more glowing blue.

"It worked," Peter said. Derek couldn't quite place his voice - it was awe mixed with relief and something he couldn't define. Something Derek wasn't entirely sure was a good thing.

"Derek!"

Derek's head snapped around to Cora. She was sitting up in bed. Her skin was still flushed and her hair clung wetly to her head, but she was awake and alert and she looked _healthy_.

"It really worked," Derek murmured. He was still holding Cora's hand, so he ran his thumb over the back of her hand. Cora was awake and she was _fine_.

Derek smiled.

"Derek, what did you do?" Cora pulled her hand from his and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She stared at his face. "Your eyes, Derek. What's going on?"

"You're okay," Derek said. "You'll be just fine."

"What did you do?"

"He saved you," Peter cut in. "He used his power as an alpha to save your life. He pulled the sickness right out of you."

Cora's gaze swiveled from Derek to Peter and back again. "Okay, tell me exactly what happened and why you thought it was a good idea to sacrifice your alpha powers for me," she demanded.

"Should I have let you die instead?"

"No." Cora crossed her arms, then uncrossed them again. "Or maybe yes. If that was the only way for you to kill Kali, then yes, damn it! Why would you give up the only thing that might give us a chance against her?" Cora shook her head at Derek's stoic expression. "So now what? Instead of avenging Boyd, we're just going to join him? We might as well just walk up to Kali and offer her our throats. It's not like we have a fighting chance anymore."

Derek sighed. "We can talk on the way." He stood up and held out his hand for Cora. She pressed her lips together stubbornly, but tentatively took his hand and let herself be pulled to her feet. Derek looked at Peter. "Are you coming?"

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Argents."

"Suit yourself." Derek shrugged and turned back to his sister. "Scott joined Deucalion," he said, herding Cora towards the door. "But we still have a chance against the alphas. We need to find the others."

* * *

Peter watched his niece and nephew head downstairs to find the rest of his pack (namely Isaac) and the rest of Scott's pack (the humans, including both Argents). Peter's lip curled back in disgust. Mixing with hunters like that just wasn't done for a reason. There was no chance that hunters and werewolves could co-operate for any extended period of time. They could co-exist, if both parties stuck to the agreements and stayed out of each other's way, but Peter much preferred a dead hunter over any other kind of hunter.

He waited until Cora and Derek were safely on the way and then jogged down the stairs himself. With Derek's alpha powers gone, there was no more wolf pack in Beacon Hills. Technically, all the wolves in Beacon Hills were omegas now and all the ties and bonds between them were broken.

Peter smiled. Everything was going according to plan.

He cut across the warehouse district and turned towards the preserve. He'd heard the twins howling earlier - if Morrell was still alive, she wouldn't be for much longer. And Peter would be damned if he didn't find the alpha pack to make them an offer they couldn't refuse.

He shifted and started running.

* * *

"Why is he not waking up?"

Lydia's voice held an edge of panic. Her blue dress had a large wet patch on the front from where she was cradling Stiles' head on her lap.

"Please, Stiles! Wake up!"

Next to her, Isaac held on to a spluttering Allison and Deaton thumped Scott on the back. They had both woken up without problems and Lydia could feel the panic settling in deeper. Her hands fluttered over Stiles' face and down to his neck. She couldn't feel a pulse.

"Lydia?"

"He's not breathing and I can't feel a heartbeat!" Lydia snapped. "I don't know—Oh god, Stiles, come on. Please wake up!"

Allison, supported by Isaac, shuffled closer. She put her hand around Stiles' arm and tugged, pulling him off Lydia's lap.

"We should try—" Allison was interrupted by a cough, but Lydia knew exactly what she wanted to say.

"Yes, CPR."

And just like that, Lydia's head was clear again. She knew what to do. There were pamphlets on CPR outside Morrell's office - Lydia had read them all a million times while waiting for her appointments with the guidance counselor. She put Stiles down flat on his back, tilted his head back and knelt down beside him.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Lydia sent a quick glare at Deaton and put her hands on Stiles' chest, one over the other. The others crowded around them but Lydia tuned them out, focusing on a rhythm to use for the compressions. Scott and Allison both had a hand on Stiles and Isaac was still clinging to Allison. Scott dripped cold water onto her leg, but Lydia didn't care. She kept pressing down on Stiles' chest. Deaton was nowhere to be seen and Lydia hoped against hope that he was calling an ambulance.

In the chaos, nobody noticed when the door opened and Derek and Cora came in.

"Stiles!" Cora surged forward and ended up nearly sitting on Stiles' legs.

And then everyone was talking. Scott kept reminding Stiles of any childhood event that the two shared, or any significant event that he could think of; Allison told him she needed at least one more human around to balance out the wolves, Cora spouted threats in a weak voice and Isaac was murmuring too quietly for her to hear. Lydia just kept to the mental mantra of 'come on, Stiles, come _on_ '.

Out of the corner of her eye Lydia could see Derek, frozen on the spot. Whatever internal debate had him rooted to the floor didn't last long, however, and he exploded into movement, crossing the room in a few long steps. He was kneeling at Stiles' head faster than Lydia could blink.

"Stiles!" Derek's voice cut through all the others. "Hey, Stiles! Wake up!" He reached out and gently put his hand on Stiles' cheek before pulling back and slapping him hard.

Next to her, Scott drew in a breath and opened his mouth - no doubt to yell at Derek - when Stiles surged up and coughed, spewing bile and water over Derek's pants. Lydia jerked back in surprise, but Derek leaned forward and put his arm across Stiles' back, supporting him as he coughed and tried to catch his breath.

"That—" Stiles bit out, heaving between coughs, "—was payback—" He ineffectively wiped his mouth with his wet sleeve. "—wasn't it?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "If it was, you'd owe me at least ten more."

Stiles snorted, and it set off another round of coughs. Lydia had had her hands in ice water up to her elbows for twenty minutes and she'd been kneeling on the cold floor for the last ten, and she could already feel the cold coming. If Stiles didn't end up with pneumonia, it was purely down to magic.

Cora sat up and crossed her arms. "What the hell is going on here? First Derek heals me with his alpha powers and now you're drowning yourselves?"

"What?" Stiles croaked. He pulled away from Derek and leaned back against the nearest metal tub. "Show me your eyes," he demanded.

Derek clenched his teeth and raised his chin defiantly. His eyes stayed their regular human color.

"They'll be blue," Deaton said from the doorway. He had put on his leather jacket - Lydia did not find him hot at all, not even a little bit - and had an old, leather-bound book in his hands. "If he used the ritual I think he did, then he sacrificed his alpha powers in exchange for his sister's life."

"And on the day before the big alpha showdown. Brilliant," Stiles said.

"It was the only way to save her life," Derek said. "I'm not going to apologize for it."

"I wasn't asking you to. I get it, okay? I know what it's like to watch someone you love die. It sucks. I know that if I'd had a way to save my mom, I would have done it. I would have done anything to save her!" Stiles sighed. "But giving up your alpha powers the day before the alpha pack is going to attack? You must realize that we're even more defenseless now than we were before. Without an alpha there's no pack. At least not traditionally."

Derek raised his eyebrows.

"I mean, you could still be a pack, but it's not the same. Scott is our alpha but he's not _an alpha_. Not yet anyway. He doesn't get stronger just because he has a few humans and a Banshee in his pack."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Derek said. "Tomorrow's the full moon - and a lunar eclipse."

"And what? It makes you stronger?"

"No. The opposite, actually," Cora said. "It leaves us vulnerable. Completely powerless from the moment the moon goes dark."

Lydia raised her eyebrows. From the looks on the others' faces, that was the first any of them had heard of it, too.

"What are you saying?" Scott asked.

"The eclipse causes werewolves to lose their powers for a night," Derek explained. "We can't shift, we can't heal, we can't access any of our powers any more. Until sunrise."

"But that makes no sense!" Stiles said.

Allison rubbed her arms. Lydia could see the goose-pimples on them from across the room. "What makes no sense?" she asked.

"Everything!" Stiles almost yelled. "Jennifer's sacrifices - she wants to be strong enough to defeat the alpha pack. But if werewolves lose their powers on the eclipse, then why didn't she just plan to strike on the alpha pack when they were helpless? Why go through all the trouble to make herself stronger when they'll be - for all intents and purposes - entirely human for the one night it's all supposed to go down on? It doesn't make sense."

Allison nodded. "Yeah. Even if you discount her magic, she could just take a rifle or a bomb or - if she's good enough - a close-range weapon and kill them. Shouldn't be harder than killing a normal human." She pulled a face. "And we all know she has practice at that."

"She was really afraid of the twins and Kali when…" Isaac trailed off, but everyone in the room could fill in the blank: when the alphas kidnapped her and killed Boyd. "And not just afraid - she was completely terrified." Isaac frowned. "Sometimes you get so afraid that you can't move, can't breathe, can't _think_. You take every bit of protection you can. Maybe your conscious mind knows you're technically stronger - _better_ \- than the one that scares you. But deep down, where it counts? You're too terrified to even blink." Isaac's voice had a faraway tone to it, and Lydia thought he might not even be aware that they were all still listening. It sounded more like he was talking to himself rather than offering the rest of them an explanation. "You spend years being afraid of your own shadow, so when you realize that you're stronger, you don't trust it. Because you know it won't be enough."

Isaac looked up, his cheeks red. Lydia wanted to reassure him that he was safe from his father and that none of them were going to use this against him, but she had a feeling that it would only embarrass him more.

"That… makes sense," Scott said. "She was like that at the hospital, too."

"Right. Come on, help me up." Stiles prods Scott in the side until Scott helps him up so Stiles can shakily stand on his own two feet. "Let's worry about one thing at a time. First: the alpha pack. If you guys lose your powers when the eclipse starts, we should definitely avoid them before that happens."

"I'm all for that," Isaac said. "But how do we deal with them after the eclipse starts? Nobody will have any powers, so what do we do?"

"Not gonna be a problem," Allison said with a smirk.

Cora raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Because we've got a kickass hunter on our side," Stiles said, pointing at Allison. "A hunter who has access to an arsenal of small handguns, large machine guns, and knives. So many knives."

"And daggers, swords and crossbows," Allison added. "I need to change into something dry - we all should - and then someone needs to come with me to get us some weapons."

"I'll go," Isaac said, shooting Scott and Derek nervous glances.

"Good." Stiles pointed at Scott. "Scott, you need to go back to Deucalion."

Scott nodded. "Right. Hey, Stiles? About what you said earlier, about--"

"Your dad?"

"Yeah."

"Don't worry about it, Scott, I'm not gonna let him come near you. Between me, my dad and your mom, he won't get a chance to talk to you. Maybe not even look at you."

Scott smiled. "Thanks. I'll text if I find out anything useful," Scott said. "I'll let you know tomorrow when the alpha pack is in position."

"Make that today," Lydia said, pointing at the overhead windows along the far wall. The sky outside was brightening; it was already the day of the lunar eclipse.

"I'm making a stop at the hospital - my sister was admitted earlier. She'll be leaving town in the next few hours," Deaton said before anyone else could speak. "You know, magic still works on the night of the lunar eclipse. When I get back, Lydia, would you like to help me prepare a few surprises? Both for the alpha pack and the darach?"

Lydia nodded. "I'll go and change into dry clothes and meet you back here."

On her way out to her car, Lydia wondered what it meant that Derek Hale was the one who managed to snap Stiles out of his trance.

* * *

"Stiles."

Stiles looked up. Deaton had a book in his hands, a book that—

"Hey! I know that book. I saw it when—"

"You were in your trance? I thought you might."

"Huh?"

"Unlike Scott's or Allison's eyes, yours didn't stay closed the entire time you were in the water," Deaton elaborated. "Yours opened and for a moment I could see the—"

"—white glow," Stiles finished quietly. It was almost like he could still feel it coursing through his body. It felt like power and magic and pain.

Deaton nodded. "Your powers," he said, "you _spark_. It's a rare gift, Stiles."

Stiles shook his head. "But… I'm not special. I can't do magic, I'm not like that. I'm just… Stiles."

"Oh, but you are, Stiles." Deaton held out the book for him to take. "Do you know who else in this town could cast a mountain ash circle?"

Derek, who had been listening quietly until then, took a step towards Deaton. "You mean he's…?"

"I can cast one," Deaton continued, ignoring the interruption. "So can my sister and the darach." Deaton gave Stiles a long look. "And you."

Stiles blinked and slowly reached out to take the book. It was the one from his vision, down to the flourishing druid tree on the cover. "A druid?" he asked. "Really?"

"You still have a lot to learn," Deaton said, "but your instincts are already there."

"Does that mean I'm an emissary, too?"

Deaton tilted his head to the side. "You have the potential," he agreed. "In fact, I think you're well on your way to becoming one." Deaton turned to Derek and Cora. "You two should take him home and make him get some rest. We'll meet back here tonight."

* * *

Stiles took a too-short hot shower and then banned Cora and Derek from his room. His excuse was that he couldn't sleep with them hovering and pacing, but he really just wanted to look through the book Deaton gave him in peace. Stiles was under no illusions whatsoever that the two werewolves didn't know he wasn't asleep, but as long as they respected his privacy and didn't barge into the room, he could ignore that.

Stiles wasn't too sure about becoming an emissary. He helped - or used to help - Scott with his control and he was the one who figured out most of the werewolf crap, but that was just being a good friend. So what if he could lay down a mountain ash circle? That didn't mean he had to be an emissary - or a druid. Could Stiles even be an emissary if he was conflicted about which werewolf to give his loyalty? Scott was his brother, his best friend, his one phone call if he ever landed himself in jail. But then there was Derek. Derek, who was annoying and irritatingly good-looking and who seemed to be cursed with bad luck on top of not always making the wisest decisions. Derek, who Stiles found himself inexplicably drawn to.

He knew why Scott didn't join Derek's pack. He knew and _understood_ it, but a part of him couldn't help but notice that the best decision for Scott wasn't always the best decision for his pack or Derek's.

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and opened the book. Time to use one of his patented coping mechanisms: pretending a problem didn't exist and waiting until it went away. There was no point in arguing with himself over decisions he might not even have to make.

The book was a mixture of history book, spiritual guide and cookbook. A closer look revealed the recipes to be for potions and other beneficial or harmful concoctions. The history sections were accounts of famous druids' lives and achievements. The spiritual aspect of the book was the most interesting, but Stiles was at the same time too keyed up and too tired to focus on spiritual bonds, tethers and anchors before his head grew heavy and his eyes fell shut.

 

When he woke up, the book was lying on his bedside table and Derek was perched on the edge of his mattress, staring out of the window.

Stiles blinked. "I'm pretty sure I locked my door when I kicked you guys out of my room," Stiles mumbled, rubbing his cheek on his pillow.

"You didn't lock the window," Derek said.

"Oh my god," Stiles moaned, "freaking _werewolves_. You guys _suck_."

Derek didn't rise to the bait, but Stiles was sure he could see a hint of a smile on his face. That was why he almost didn't say anything. But not talking to his dad had ended with their last conversation being an argument, and while Stiles had every confidence that they were going to get all the parents back alive, he wasn't naive enough to think it hadn't had an impact on him over the last few days. If the night of the eclipse didn't go the way they planned, Stiles didn't want to have anything stand between them.

"About earlier," Stiles started.

"Don't."

"But I want to apologize," Stiles insisted. "I know you didn't give up your powers to spite us or because you like the blue eyes more than the red."

Derek flinched and Stiles winced internally. Reminding him of killing his first love while trying to apologize - that was a new low even for Stiles, who usually ended up putting his foot in his mouth at least once in any conversation.

"Look, I really do know what it's like to be helplessly watching a loved one wither away and die. I get it, okay? The timing sucks, but it isn't your fault."

Derek shrugged.

Carefully, Stiles put his hand on Derek's arm. Derek's skin was warm and soft under his palm but unlike usually the contact did nothing to relax Derek.

"Okay, what is _really_ up with you?" Stiles sat up and took a deep breath. His chest didn't even twinge. Either he had a really good immune system, or the magic part of 'magical ritual' had kicked in and stopped him from becoming sick. "You've had a stick up your ass every since you became an alpha and now, instead of removing that stick when you went back to being a beta, the stick has gotten impossibly bigger. Sure, everything about the situation sucks, but shouldn't you at least be happy about crossing some of the responsibility off your list?"

"What do you want me to say?" Derek shrugged off his hand and stood up, pacing the few steps between Stiles' bed and his desk. "Just because I'm not the alpha any more doesn't mean I'm not responsible. I got Erica and Boyd killed. I can't seem to win any fight against the alphas. My girlfriend turned out to be a mass murdering druid. My sister nearly died and I gave up the one weapon we had against the alphas to save her and now my uncle—"

Derek pressed his lips together and breathed out hard through his nose.

Stiles frowned. "What about Peter? What happened?"

"Scott texted you while you were out," Derek said. "It's why I came in here, to check if it was important. Peter is with the alpha pack. He's offering them information in exchange for a spot on the pack."

"That—I—Wow. Derek, I'm sor—"

"Don't, okay?" Derek crossed his arms over his chest and turned to the window. "We all knew it was only a matter of time until he betrayed me again."

Stiles sighed. "Erica and Boyd weren't your fault. They left your pack and you still spent all summer searching for them. Jennifer isn't your fault either. I know I was angry about that earlier and that I lashed out at you, but you couldn't have known what she was. And you did what you had to do to save your sister. I don't think any of us are in a position to throw the first stone when it's about family." Stiles laughed humorlessly. "Allison, Scott and I nearly drowned ourselves for our parents. Allison's dad essentially kidnapped himself to protect her and Isaac. I think we all have a massive blind spot where family is concerned." Stiles shrugged. "And like it or not, Peter is still your family. It's not like you can just switch it off."

"Apparently _he_ can."

Stiles joined Derek at the window and looked out at the trees coming right up to the edge of the backyard. "It doesn't matter. It's still seven of us - ten if you count our parents - against the four alphas and Peter, and all of you will be on equal footing, strength-wise. Ethan was pretty hung up on Danny, too. I think if push comes to shove, he'll convince Aiden to stay out of the fight or at least hold back. And you know Peter. He avoids fights he can't win. It wouldn't surprise me if he turns on the alphas just as quickly as he turned on you." Stiles shot him an encouraging smile and bumped Derek's shoulder with his own. But Derek only frowned at him in return.

"You're forgetting Jennifer."

Stiles shrugged. "She's smart. She'll wait until after we've taken care of the alphas, and at that point it's still seven against one."

"Seven people with no powers--" He pointedly looks at Stiles. "Make that six people with no powers and one who doesn't know how to use his - against one magically enhanced dark druid. She's strong. We're not."

"We're smarter."

"She--"

"Oh my god, Derek, will you shut up?" Stiles threw his hands up and gave Derek an exasperated look. "Just take the pep talk in the manner in which it was intended and stay away with your realism and your logic. If we start talking real odds, I might just cry."

"Can't have that," Derek quipped, but it fell flat.

Stiles had spent too much of the last few days with a tear-wet face to form a snarky comeback.

* * *

They picked up food on the way to Deaton's. Despite the delicious smell wafting up from the white paper containers, Stiles was convinced that none of them would be able to swallow more than a few bites. His own throat felt dry and raw, like he spent the last three days at a music festival, screaming himself hoarse. But then the sky was turning a dusky gray color outside and they were all gathered in Deaton's office, picking their way through boxes of Chinese takeout.

Lydia and Allison were making mindless small talk and everyone ignored the way Lydia smelled like wolfsbane and mistletoe or the way Allison kept touching the bow case sitting on the shelf next to her. Isaac hovered near Allison, chewing more on his chopsticks than the actual food. Stiles would have thought it was sweet if he hadn't been able to see the worry lines around Isaac's eyes and his stiff posture.

They were all afraid. Cora was kicking her legs against the wooden leg of the table she was sitting on, Derek was pacing and Stiles himself was fidgeting, running his fingers over his dad's mangled badge, letting the skin of his fingertips catch in on the rough patches in the metal. He was absently turning the badge over and over in his hand, thinking about nothing in particular when he noticed it.

The connection with the Nemeton that Deaton had warned them about was flaring up. From the moment he'd woken up from his trance, Stiles had been able to feel the sacred tree. It was like a second heartbeat, an echo of it that snaked around his heart and settled into his skin. The connection had been silent all afternoon. It hadn't been gone, but it hadn't done anything either. It had just been there. Now it was pulsing in time with his heartbeat and Stiles could feel the need to move.

He looked up—right into Allison's eyes.

"You can feel it, too," Allison said.

Stiles nodded. "It's time."

Isaac looked at his watch. "It's too early. The eclipse isn't for another forty-five minutes."

"We need to move." Allison grabbed her bow and secured her quiver on her back. Stiles watched in fascination as she tucked the ring daggers into sheaths attached to her underarms and clipped a battery of throwing stars to her belt. It was only when he looked at the rest of them getting ready that Stiles realized he was sorely under-armed. Lydia had a bag of powder pouches and potion jars slung over her shoulder. Cora slid her fingers through a pair of brass knuckles and grabbed Allison's tazer. Isaac had a machete strapped to his back and Derek grabed twin daggers out of Allison's weapons bag. Stiles didn't even have a bat. Not anymore.

Allison seemed to come to the same conclusion. She reached into her bad and pulled out a handgun. "Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

"What?"

"It's a rule: if you don't know how to handle a gun, you don't get a gun. It's why they're all carrying blades."

"You're not carrying a gun," Stiles pointed out.

Allison grinned. "Because I prefer my bow and my daggers. Doesn't mean I can't use this. How about it, Stiles?"

Stiles knew how to handle a gun, but he hesitated.

"Your dad is the sheriff. Don't tell me you don't know guns."

"I do know guns. I've been to every gun safety class in the county and my dad took me to the range a lot before all this started. But I've never shot at anyone before."

Allison handed him the gun and an extra clip of ammunition. "It probably doesn't help, and it sounds kind of messed up when I say it out loud, but it actually does get easier. Pointing them at people, I mean."

Stiles sighed. Allison was right. That did sound messed up. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Stiles took the gun anyway.

* * *

They drove to the woods in several cars, Allison in the lead. She parked at an old abandoned building and it was not until he saw the spiral carved into the wall and heard Derek gasp beside him that Stiles realized they were at the old distillery. He quickly herded the others along.

The pull of the Nemeton was stronger out here. Maybe it was proximity to the tree or just the fact that they were out here looking for it, but Stiles could feel with every fiber of his being that they needed to head south-west.

"Do you feel that?" Allison whispered.

Stiles nodded.

Scott hadn't contacted them again since the text about Peter, but Stiles wasn't worried. Scott could feel the pull as well. And ever since they entered the woods, Stiles felt the Nemeton's presence more acutely. It wasn't just a connection with the tree, though. He was also connected to Allison and Scott. It wasn't anything he could put in words. It wasn't even a physical sensation or a feeling. It was just an awareness of both of them on a different level. Stiles could tell they were both tense and nearby.

"We're close," Allison warned the others. They were following in single file: first Isaac, right behind them, then Lydia, bracketed by Isaac and Cora, with Derek as the rear guard.

Something lurched in Stiles' chest. Scott was in danger. Stiles wasn't even aware he was running until Allison grabbed one arm and Derek latched on to the other.

"What are you doing?" Derek whispered heatedly. His hand felt like a vice on Stiles' wrist and the blue glow of his eyes was eerie in the twilight of the forest.

"It's okay, Stiles. I could feel it, too," Allison said. "But we can't just rush into this. We need to be careful."

"What was it?" Lydia asked.

"Something is wrong with Scott." Allison let go of Stiles' arm and stepped back. "But we're really close. Close enough that the alphas might have heard us already."

A chuckle from their left confirmed Allison's words. "Oh, there's no 'might' about it, my dear."

Deucalion was standing between the trees, twirling his cane in his hands. Next to him, Kali smirked and bared her fangs. "So nice of you to join us. For your deaths."

Stiles didn't have time to think. He followed Allison's lead and stepped away from the others. Clustering together only made it easier for the alphas to attack and inflict maximum damage. Spread out like they were, the alphas would have to concentrate on picking them off one by one. Not that it made much difference at the moment; the alphas definitely had the edge in this fight.

To Stiles' left, Derek roared, his eyes burning blue.

Kali laughed. "If you think giving up your powers means you're safe from our little agreement, then you're wrong," she said. "Alpha or beta - I will rip your head off."

"If I don't rip off yours," Derek countered.

Stiles turned. Peter was nowhere to be seen, but the twins were positioned at their back. Ethan looked conflicted and Aiden looked bored, but Stiles could see the split-second glances he shot Lydia. Maybe they wouldn't have to worry about watching their backs if the twins came to their senses. He looked up. The sky was rapidly darkening, and Stiles could see the full moon rise on the firmament. The eclipse wasn't for another seven minutes. Seven minutes were a pretty long time when you were looking at a snarling alpha werewolf.

Stiles exchanged a glance with Allison. She tilted her head towards Deucalion and then her bow. Stiles nodded.

"Hey!" Stiles took a step towards Deucalion. "Where's Scott?"

Deucalion stopped twirling his cane and regarded him with something Stiles was tempted to call amusement. Deucalion had the upper hand and he knew it. It made Stiles' stomach churn.

"Scott is having a crisis of faith," Deucalion said. "Right now he's keeping the lovely Jennifer company. Maybe that will teach him a lesson or two."

Allison made a furious sound and cocked an arrow, but Deucalion was faster. He sent his cane flying and caught Allison in the side with the sharp end. Allison crumpled to the ground with a pained cry.

That started the fight.

Kali charged at Derek, kicking out and catching him across the chest with a clawed foot. Derek retaliated with a fist to the stomach, but Kali grabbed his wrist and slammed him up against a tree.

Cora jumped into the fight and, her fist closed around the brass knuckles, punched Kali in the side of the head. Kali snarled and lashed out at her.

Behind Stiles, Lydia helped Allison to her feet and Isaac fought off both twins. Deucalion was watching them with a frown. Stiles sent a quick thank you skywards. Stiles was on board the Isaac fan train, but not even Derek could fight any of the alphas off alone. Isaac didn't stand a chance against both twins - not unless they let him.

Allison was upright and looking fiercer than ever. She drew the arrow back again and let it fly, hurtling at Deucalion's head. He caught it, of course, but Lydia took his distraction as a chance to throw a small, fragile glass vial filled with a black-purple powder at him.

Allison smirked when Stiles raised his eyebrows at her, and he gave the girls a quick thumbs up when the vial hit Deucalion and splintered, showering him in glass shards and what appeared to be a mixture of wolfsbane and mountain ash.

Deucalion roared in pain, his distorted eyes glowing bright red.

Stiles looked up at the sky again. The pale round sphere of the moon had almost completely disappeared behind the Earth's shadow. Only seconds now until it was completely eclipsed. He looked at the others.

Cora still had her teeth bared, but they were blunt. Human.

Derek's eyes were still alight with fury, but they were no longer lit by his werewolf powers.

Isaac's snarl had turned into something that sounded suspiciously like a cough.

Deucalion, Kali and the twins, however, didn't seem to be affected by the moon. Stiles wasn't sure if alphas were naturally immune due to their nature or if it was just these particular alphas who had gained extra strength through killing their packs. Or maybe the eclipse _had_ weakened them, but even the moon couldn't strip them of all their power.

Whatever it was, it threw a serious kink into plan A.

Kali smirked, held her claws up and, with an exaggerated flourish, rammed them into Derek's side.

Derek screamed.

Stiles exchanged an alarmed look with Allison and Lydia. This was not going according to plan _at all_.

"Uh-oh," Lydia said.

"Plan B?" Allison asked.

"Plan B," Stiles confirmed, loud enough for Isaac and Cora to hear. All five of them reached into their pockets and activated the ultrasonic emitters Allison had brought together with the bag of weapons.

Kali reared back, giving Cora the chance to drag Derek away from her.

"Run," she said.

"That way!" Allison took the lead again, seemingly unaffected by the stab wound in her side. But a large patch of her black top was shining wetly and Stiles could see that the wound was still bleeding.

The clearing wasn't far away. The Nemeton had been reduced to a stump at some point, with only the roots intact, and Stiles could feel it like a stab wound in his chest. No wonder it was so desperate for a connection, so eager to soak up any energy at all.

"Dad!"

Allison's cry snapped Stiles out of his thoughts. Tied to the stump were their parents, alive and relatively unharmed. Scott's mom had her eyes closed, but Stiles couldn't say if she was just resting her eyes or if she was unconscious. On the other side of the Nemeton was the darach, her eyes ablaze with white fire.

Stiles' eyes found his dad, sitting with his back to the tree stump, tied to the roots. There was a cut on his dad's arm. The knife was still in Jennifer's hand. Stiles pressed his lips together and glared at her.

"You!" she cried when he looked at her. "What did you do?" Then her gaze shifted to what was happening behind Stiles and her eyes went wide. She took a few hurried steps back and dropped her knife. "No!"

Behind him, Stiles could hear Kali snarl and then Derek's pained whimper. Stiles felt absolutely useless until he remembered the gun. It was right there in a holster at the small of his back. He slowly reached for the gun and looked at Jennifer. Could he really turn his back on her?

But Jennifer wasn't paying any attention to him. Her eyes were fixed on the scene behind him, so Stiles turned around. He was just in time to see Kali shake Derek like a rag doll and then drop him. But before he could aim the gun at her, Kali turned her red eyes on Jennifer and leapt towards her, her claws extended and her hand raised to strike.

Stiles didn't even think about it. He aimed and fired, twice. He hit Kali in the shoulder and the backside, and he would have found that a lot more amusing if he wasn't too terrified to breathe properly.

Kali dropped and landed awkwardly on the tree stump, contorting herself into an uncomfortable-looking shape. She gasped and howled in pain. Stiles looked down at the gun. An Argent's gun. He felt a little stupid to realize only now that the gun must have been loaded with wolfsbane bullets.

Jennifer was still out of reach of Kali's claws, but it didn't seem to matter to her. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts and Stiles could see her hands trembling. He wanted to feel sympathetic - he did. He knew that kind of terror. He had it while looking into Peter Hale's gaping maw and watching him tear a hole into Lydia's side. But he couldn't excuse what Jennifer had done. Not when she didn't show a smidgen of remorse. Not when she was so obviously proud of herself for finding the perfect sacrifices. Being afraid and feeling helpless and weak was not an excuse. Stiles was glad that Allison pulled herself from that path, but it looked like it was too late for Jennifer.

Kali snarled and sat up, gasping in pain, black tendrils reaching down over her shoulder and towards her heart. But it wasn't working fast enough. Kali was already on her feet again when Stiles moved, raising the gun up again. Shooting her again shouldn't have been any different from doing it before, but it was. She bared her fangs at him, her claws still wet with Derek's blood. But she was facing him, looking him dead in the eyes, and that made Stiles hesitate long enough for Kali to smirk and cross the distance between them, grabbing him by the neck with one hand and raising the other to strike.

But before Kali could bring her hand down on his throat, Allison stepped up right behind her and stabbed an arrow into Kali's neck. Allison hit a button on the end of the arrow and pushed Kali to the side, dragging Stiles back a few steps. The arrow made a high-pitched noise and exploded, nearly severing Kali's head from her shoulders.

"One down, three to go," Allison said. She frowned, looking over Stiles' shoulder. "Or just one? Looks like the twins took themselves out of the fight."

"Good," Stiles said. "And thank you, by the way."

Allison smirked. "My pleasure."

Stiles opened his mouth to reply when a shout rang across the clearing. "No! Derek!"

Stiles jerked around. Deucalion had Derek on his knees, ready to finish him off. Stiles barely had the time to take in the scene before a bright light erupted between the two werewolves and Deucalion was flung back into a tree. Stiles swiveled his head around. Jennifer's raised hands were trembling, her eyes wide, but she seemed determined. She jerked her hands apart and there was a sickening crunch and tear from the other side of the clearing. Stiles didn't want to look, but he couldn't stop himself from making sure.

Deucalion wasn't dead, but he was so close to it that would it only be a matter of time before he succumbed to his injury. Jennifer had nearly ripped him in half, his guts spilling out of the jagged, gaping hole in his stomach. He might have been able to heal this wound, but Derek didn't give him the chance. He shuffled forward on his knees and picked up one of the daggers he must have dropped earlier, bringing it up to Deucalion's neck. Stiles didn't look as Derek cut Deucalion's throat.

* * *

A hush fell over the clearing. Lydia was kneeling next to Allison, holding a cloth against the still bleeding stab would. Derek had moved a few feet away from Deucalion's body, leaning against a tree and holding his stomach. Cora was crouched down next to him, unharmed apart from a cut on her hairline as far as Stiles could see. Isaac was on his back, unconscious, but breathing normally. Stiles couldn't see a trace of blood anywhere near him. Jennifer still stood at the stump of the sacred tree, but she had picked her knife back up.

Stiles cocked his head to the side. He could feel the connection to the tree now more than ever. It was a crawling sensation under his skin, an itch. It was exactly like Deaton described it, but a million times more intense than Stiles had ever expected. He took a step towards the tree stump, and then another, and another. Allison said something, but Stiles couldn't hear her over the rush of blood in his ears.

Jennifer glared at him, her eyes moving over him to Allison and Lydia before sliding back to him. Stiles caught the brief look of alarm on Jennifer's face, but she quickly hid it under a sneer.

"My, my, my. Little Stiles Stilinski. Who would have thought?" she said mockingly.

Stiles didn't answer. He kept walking until he reached the stump, standing between the roots that were coming out through the earth. Stiles could feel the Nemeton reaching out to him. He didn't try to stop it.

"I thought it would be Deaton - or even Morrell - facing me tonight. They might have found a way to disturb the ritual of the last sacrifice, but they couldn't take my power. And here you are," she sneered at him. "Looks like they couldn't even find someone worthy to try and stop me. Little boy, trying to play with the big kids. You're not going to win this. You have no control over your powers. You don't even know what you really are, do you?"

Stiles didn't bother to tell her that he'd already figured out most of it. Even without Deaton's help he would have realized eventually what it all meant. His ability to use mountain ash. His talent to see things - patterns, nuances, subtleties - that others missed. The brightness that engulfed him in his trance. Druids and emissaries. Balance and power.

Power that he could feel thrumming through his veins.

Somewhere in the back of Stiles' mind, he heard chanting. Without thinking about it, he reached out a hand and ran it across the rough surface of the Nemeton stump. Immediately he lost all feeling in his fingers, but his nerves were alight with sensation. He could feel the power, flowing into him, flowing through him, settling in his cells and saturating him with brightness.

The chanting in the back of his head got louder and louder. It sounded triumphant.

Across the Nemeton, Jennifer's head jerked up and she tightened her grip on the knife. "No. What are you doing?"

Night had truly fallen. The eclipse ensured that no moonlight touched the clearing, and yet Stiles could see better and better with each round of the chanting chorus he heard. Stiles pressed his palms against the warm wood and _listened_.

"No!" Jennifer shouted. She tensed and Stiles flung his hands up without thinking about it. Jennifer flew back and the breath pushed out of her when she impacted with a tree. Peripherally, Stiles was aware of the others gathered around the tree, watching him with wide eyes, but he didn't have the words to reassure him that this was what had to happen. That it felt _right_ to use the power of the tree. Power that the tree was feely giving him.

It was all about balance, Stiles realized. He needed to balance the raw power the tree gave him with something that would keep him grounded. He thought about his dad and his dad's badge. The cold, rough edge of the metal and the way he would play with it whenever his dad picked him up. He thought about Scott and Allison, the way they fit together and into his life even when they weren't together. He thought about Lydia and her face after she kissed him. He thought about Cora and Isaac, how often they were both afraid and outmatched and how they still never gave up. He thought about Derek, stepping in front of him to protect him. Coming to him for research and advice. Looking at him for comfort and reassurance.

Jennifer picked herself up and stalked towards him, but her steps faltered. "Your eyes," she breathed.

Stiles could feel it. He could see it. The world was hidden behind a white veil and he could see the power. The Nemeton glowed the brightest, but the clearing was also illuminated by the glow given off by Jennifer and the wolves and even Lydia. Stiles was still admiring the tendrils of gleaming white energy that whipped out of the Nemeton when Jennifer threw her knife at him.

It hit him in his chest, just like it did his dad back at the school.

It hurt, but Stiles was oddly detached from the stab wound in his chest. He could sense movement to his side - Derek and Isaac - but before they reached him, Stiles pulled out the knife. His skin knit back together in seconds, leaving a rip in his shirt and some blood stains on his chest, his shirt and his hand. His skin was unmarred, though, and he was unhurt. The knife was heavy in his hand and Stiles threw it back at Jennifer almost out of reflex.

Jennifer saw it coming by a mile and she smiled condescendingly. She raised her hand to deflect the knife, but instead of diverting its path, the knife grazed her palm and left a bleeding cut.

It didn't heal.

Jennifer gasped, staring at her still bleeding cut in confusion. She raises her head and narrowed her eyes at Stiles.

Stiles could feel her pull on the power, reaching out to the Nemeton. It felt like she was pulling out his hairs one by one. Jennifer smirked and stepped closer to the Nemeton. She put both of her palms on the stump and leaned forward. Her eyes glowed bright white. Stiles could hear the Nemeton call to him, so he mirrored her stance and lowered his palms onto the tree. The second his blood-smeared fingers touched the wood, Jennifer's eyes winked out and went back to their normal brown color. Stiles' vision whited out.

He could feel the power and the responsibility. He felt like he was being judged. Like they were both being judged, but he was one who was found worthy. Jennifer's power - the power she'd gained from the sacrifices - flowed into his body. The Nemeton _chose_ him.

When Stiles could see again, Jennifer was lying in a heap on the ground and everyone was staring at him. He could feel the Nemeton in his heart, set around it like a solid ring of swirling, breathing power. It was heavy and anchoring and oddly comforting in its restriction.

"Wow," Stiles said.

Then he collapsed.

* * *

Lydia blinked. She was still seeing spots, and in the sudden darkness after the bright flash of light, that was about all she could see.

The bright flash of light caused by _Stiles_. Who was either a druid or doing a really good impersonation of one.

Someone needed to pinch her. Hard.

"What just happened?"

"Stiles just saved our asses," Isaac said. He spoke slowly, like he was still dazed.

They all were, Lydia realized. They all looked like they'd just woken up, their thoughts still fuzzy from sleep. Then Allison broke the stupor.

"Dad!"

Chris' head jerked up and Allison threw her arms around his neck.

"You should cut him down," someone said from behind her. Lydia jumped and turned. On the edge of the clearing, like they'd just stepped out of the trees, were Deaton and Morrell, both clad in leather and looking dangerous. "You should cut all of them down and then we should move this out of this clearing."

The words jump started the rest of them. Isaac and Cora found Scott unconscious in the root cellar and dragged him up to the surface while Allison, Lydia and Morrell cut the parents loose.

"It's the tree, isn't it?" Lydia asked, watching as Ms McCall blinked owlishly and started to wake up as soon as she stopped touching the stump.

Morrell nodded. "The tree has awakened. The beacon is shining again. It's still weak though, and siphoning off all of our power."

"What about Stiles?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"Now that's what I'd like to know," the sheriff added from beside her. His words were slurred and his movements sluggish, but his eyes were sharp and clear. "What the hell is going on? And why is Stiles unconscious?"

"You son is gifted," Deaton said. He knelt down next to Jennifer and put his hand on her forehead. "Her power is gone," he said.

"A transfer?"

"Looks that way. Filtered through the Nemeton."

The sheriff slapped a hand down on the tree, interrupting the conversation between Deaton and Morrell. "How about you two cut the mystic crap and tell me what the _hell_ is going on with my _son_?"

Lydia turned her eyes on Deaton, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that Derek and Allison were also looking at him. Deaton sighed.

"It's best to let Stiles explain. He's merely exhausted from channeling so much power. He'll wake up soon enough." Before the sheriff could start yelling again, he added: "There was a transfer of power. Jennifer's ritual failed because you three were no longer the sacrifices. Your children sacrificed themselves for you and took your place. So your blood," he gestured at the sheriff's torn, bloody sleeve, "didn't have the desired effect. And when Stiles, who already had the spark inside of him, stepped into the Nemeton's circle of influence, the sacred tree took action."

"It took the darach's power and gave it to Stiles," Morrell took over. "It deemed him more worthy of it than her."

"That—what—my son?"

"Is a druid. In training. Over time he could become very powerful." Deaton looked down at the tree stump. "We really should be leaving now. Most of us are touched by the supernatural, we possess supernatural energy. Every minute we stay here, we feed the tree."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"No, not in itself. But the more power the tree has, the more it will attract beings that crave power."

The sheriff sighed. "So. More monsters."

"Essentially, yes."

"Okay," Lydia said. "Until sunrise, the wolves won't heal. You go with Deaton and get yourselves patched up. Derek—"

She was interrupted by a pained moan. For the second time that evening, everyone focused on Stiles.

* * *

"What's going on?" Stiles mumbled, his hand blindly searching for something to hold on to on the dirt-packed ground. His hand bumped into a tree root sticking out of the earth, but before he could grab it, someone took his hand.

"You passed out," Derek said.

Stiles' eyes flew open and he sat up. "Dad!"

"Hey, son."

Stiles pulled his dad into a one-armed hug without letting go of Derek's hand.

"Stiles?" Derek asked.

"What?" he said, voice muffled by his dad's shirt collar.

"What are you doing?"

Stiles pulled away from his dad. "What do you mean? I'm not doing anyth—holy shit!"

Stiles hand, the one gripping Derek's, glowed white. He looked at Deaton. "What do I do?" he asked.

Morrell was the one who answered. "It's power," she said. "Try to harness it. Channel it into something useful."

"Like what?"

"Healing!" Lydia blurted. Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

"No, she's right," Morrell said. "It's all about balance. The alpha pack and the darach upset the natural balance of this place. Righting their wrongs will restore balance. You should be able to use the power to heal your pack."

Stiles uncertainly looked at his glowing hand. "How?"

"How do you lay a mountain ash line?" Morrell countered.

" _Oh_." Stiles blinked. It was all about belief. It was always about belief. _Imagination is more important than knowledge._ He moved his glowing hand to Derek's side and put it over the wounds inflicted by Kali. In his mind, he saw the way Derek looked when he was healthy and whole.

Derek gasped and when he pulled the shredded remains of his shirt away from the area, the wound had disappeared.

"It works," Stiles whispered.

"Very good, Stiles," Deaton said. "If you feel up to it, you could try your luck with the others."

Stiles turned to his dad, but his dad pulled his arm out of Stiles' grip. "Not me. Jennifer healed the stab wound, and this is merely a scratch. But we'll need a plan. I can't just show up after four days and pretend I wasn't missing." He turned to Deaton. "You said her power is gone. Does that mean she's just human now?"

Deaton nodded.

"Good. As soon as Stiles has healed everyone and you're all gone, I'm going to call the FBI and tell them I overpowered the serial killer and that I and the other two hostages are fine." He looked down at the still unconscious Jennifer. "She'll go to prison for a long time."

"We'll need to get our stories straight then," Chris said. He glanced at Stiles. "Heal Allison but leave me as I am. The head wound will make it easier for us with the police."

"Not to be Debbie Downer here, but what if she talks? I mean, what's to stop her from revealing everything?" Isaac asked.

The sheriff snorted. "Oh, she's welcome to talk about werewolves and druids and ritual sacrifices all she likes. Let's take bets on the first person who'll mention an insanity plea."

"So that's it?" Stiles asked. "It's over?"

"It's over," Derek agreed.

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Epilogue:**

* * *

"So." Stiles licked his lips and fiddled with his thumbs. "I'm sorry that your uncle is a cowardly asshole and that your girlfriend turned out evil and is going to spend the rest of her life in prison."

Next to him, Derek heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Stiles."

"What? It was a sincere apology!"

"Of course it was."

"And my way to segue into the next topic for the evening because, dude, you suck at picking girlfriends."

"Don't call me dude," Derek said, his voice gravelly. "And I don't think you have to worry about that for a while."

"Yeah?"

Derek sighed. "Yeah."

Stiles hummed and leaned back. They were sitting on Stiles' bed, waiting for the buzz to wear off enough to sleep. Stiles arm and leg brushed against Derek's side and Stiles felt his heartbeat sky-rocket. "Sorry," he apologized.

"For what?"

Stiles shot Derek a surprised glance and found Derek's entirely human eyes looking back. The eclipse! Derek couldn't hear his heartbeat skip or the smell the arousal - which, Stiles could have assured him - was mostly adrenaline, thank you very much.

"What?" Derek asked.

Stiles smiled. He recognized that tone, but thanks to the eclipse, Derek couldn't growl at him. Huh. "Do packs have traditions or rituals for lunar eclipses? I mean, they are pretty common, right?"

Derek frowned, looking a bit thrown by the change in topic. "No rituals, but… I don't know about other packs, but we used to gather in the basement, all of us, and spar. It was the only time the human members could not only keep up without anyone holding back but they could actually kick our asses."

"Sounds like fun."

"It was," Derek agreed. "Until your human little sister kicks you in the balls."

"Ouch." Stiles winced in sympathy. A thought occurred to him. "The night of the fire—" he blurted, biting his lip when Derek stiffened and drew back slightly.

Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "That's just so many levels of wrong."

"Why do you care?"

"Seriously? Why do you think, dumbass?"

"I don't know!" Derek yelled. He pushed himself up and started pacing.

To Stiles he looked like a caged animal. Trapped and afraid.

"I don't get you, Stiles. I don't get you _at all_."

"Well, what do your wolfy senses tell you?"

"That it's a lunar eclipse and to come back in the morning," he said dryly.

Stiles pursed his lips. "Har-de-fucking-har, Derek. Of course I care. I care about what happened to you and your family because it was a shit thing to happen and none of you deserved it. I care because you gave up your alpha powers for your baby sister. I care because you keep trying with Scott even when he treats you like shit. I care because you probably blame yourself for every shit thing that happened since you killed Paige that night. I care because your life shouldn't just be pain and suffering all the time," he said, unable to stop the flood of words.

Derek had stopped pacing during Stiles' tirade. He pressed his lips together and looked down.

"Derek. Derek, please look at me."

Derek slowly lifted his head and the look in his eyes nearly killed Stiles. All of his doubts, his self-loathing, it was all written in Derek's eyes.

Carefully, Stiles approached Derek. He lifted his arm and put his hand on Derek's cheek, lightly running his thumb through Derek's surprisingly soft beard. "I care about you."

Somehow, they ended up kissing. Stiles was pretty sure that Derek started it, but the kiss was kind of spectacular. And unfortunately a spectacularly bad idea, no matter who started it.

Derek's hands were on his hips when they broke the kiss, and Stiles let his head fall onto Derek's shoulder. "This was a spectacularly bad idea," he said into the collar of Derek's shirt.

"I know," Derek said. He nudged Stiles' head with his shoulder until Stiles lifted it.

"What?"

Derek leaned in again and nipped at Stiles' lips. "It'll never work," he added.

Stiles nodded. "We're barely even friends!" He ducked his head and licked a stripe along Derek's neck, following the curve of it when Derek tips his head back and to the side. "Barely even friends," he repeated. "And that's only on the days we're not still trying to kill each other."

Derek swallowed hard and Stiles followed the movement of his Adam's apple with his eyes before mouthing the area and sucking a mark into Derek's skin.

"No, really. We shouldn't be doing this." Stiles caught Derek's wandering hands and held on to them. "Derek." He waited until Derek looked him in the eye. "This is a really bad idea."

"I know," Derek said seriously.

"Neither of us is in the best place right now, emotionally. We're so fucked up, it's not even funny."

"I know," Derek repeated.

"This could be like opening the Pandora's box. Unleashing even more hell on all of us."

Derek turned his hands in Stiles' and linked their fingers, effectively turning the hold Stiles had on his hands to stop him touching Stiles into Derek and Stiles holding hands.

"Pandora did unleash evil on the world, but do you know the rest of the story?" Derek asked. He leaned in, slowly, and deliberately licked at Stiles' lips before kissing him gently. "She also brought hope into the world."

Stiles sighed, but his body was 100 per cent in favor of turning a new leaf in their relationship and his heart wasn't far behind. Stiles mentally shrugged. His mind would just have to catch up. "This is going to come back to bite us later," he warned.

"Probably," Derek agreed. "Do you care?"

"Not right now. Right now I care that my dad's alive, I'm alive, you're alive."

Derek pulled him closer and ground his hips into Stiles'. "Let me show you how alive I am."

Stiles groaned, both at Derek's bad pun and the friction of the movement.

"Shut up," Derek growled at him. It almost sounded like a real growl, too, even if dawn was still hours away. Derek walked backwards to the bed and sprawled out on it, pulling Stiles down on top of him. This new position gives Stiles a perfect view of the hickey he'd sucked into Derek's neck earlier. Stiles reached out a curious finger and traced the edge of the bruise. It wasn't fading.

Stiles felt the heat rise up in his face, but he couldn't look away. The eclipse that kept him from shifting or healing his injuries also kept him from healing this tiny bruise. Until sunrise, any mark he left on Derek would stay visible. The thought sent another type of heat through his body and he pounced, his mouth latching on to Derek's neck. Stiles sucked a ring of bruises into Derek's skin, tracing the shape with his fingers, and nipped and sucked until Derek had a necklace of angry red hickeys strung along his neck.

"Happy now?" Derek asked knowingly, a slight smirk playing around his mouth.

"Not by a long shot," Stiles shot back. He sat up and took off his shirt, tugging at Derek's when he didn't move fast enough to undress. Stiles could look at Derek's chest for hours. Smooth, tan skin, tight abs and hard muscles, and mouthwatering rosy little nipples. There was no scar, no trace left of his earlier wounds. Derek's chest was entirely unblemished. Stiles found himself wanting to take care of that.

Stiles trailed his fingers over the bruises on Derek's neck one more time and then moved down, circling a nipple with his fingertips. Derek nearly lifted off the bed when Stiles leaned down and caught the perky nipple between his teeth. Stiles gave the nipple an experimental tug and Derek groaned low in his throat, his hands fluttering against Stiles' stomach, touching wherever he could reach.

Stiles pulled off and smacked his lips. Nipples were fun, and if Derek's reaction was anything to go by, they might even be more fun from the other side of things. For now, though, Stiles was content to lick a wet line across Derek's chest and to the other nipple. Flicking his thumb over the one nipple while he flicked his tongue over the other left Derek breathless and helplessly grinding up into Stiles' hip. Stiles smiled against Derek's skin and kissed the skin next to Derek's nipple. He opened his mouth and started sucking, bringing up the blood under the skin. With a final nip, he pulled off and admired his work. A shiny, blood-red circle-shaped bruise right next to Derek's nipple.

Derek made a small noise and Stiles made the mistake of looking up. As fascinating as his marks on Derek's skin were, the expression on Derek's face was absolutely mesmerizing. His eyes were almost black with desire and he had a peaceful, blissed-out expression on his face. Derek's lower lip was bright red, like he'd been biting to keep quiet. Stiles couldn't resist the temptation to kiss Derek again, to suck Derek's lip into his mouth and worry at it with his teeth until Derek squirmed against him and moaned into his mouth.

"God, you're killing me with your mouth," Derek said.

Stiles smirked. Derek sounded like it, too, his voice rough and shaky.

"I haven't even started yet," Stiles said. He worked his way down Derek's chest, stopping occasionally to nip at a piece of skin or to suck another string of hickeys onto his chest. When his chin bumped into Derek's belt buckle, Stiles drew back and ran his hand along the waistband of Derek's jeans. "Off?"

"Yeah."

Stiles unbuckled Derek's belt and unbuttoned his jeans, making sure to rub at Derek's erection through the heavy fabric. Derek retaliated by tweaking one of Stiles' nipples. Stiles gasped, pleasure shooting through his body, thereby definitely proving his nipple theory.

Stiles hooked both hands into Derek's belt loops and pulls, only briefly hesitating when he noticed that the movement was pulling down Derek's underwear as well. Naked, Derek was - impossibly - even more beautiful. Everything about him was proportional, almost symmetrical. His feet were fine-boned and his toes were straight, his legs were nicely muscled and hairy, but not too hairy. And his cock. Stiles had watched a lot of porn over the years. He was intimately familiar with quite a few erect cocks, but he had never seen one up close that wasn't attached to his own body.

Stiles blindly reached a hand out to Derek's face and Derek caught his fingers in his mouth, sucking them in. His tongue played along Stiles' fingers and he made an annoyed sound when Stiles pulled them out. The annoyed sound turned into a moan when Stiles wrapped his spit-slick hand around Derek's cock and gave it a few experimental tugs. Licking his lips, Stiles leaned down and closed his mouth over the head.

The taste was…different. Not bad, but nothing he found especially alluring either. When he moved his head up and down a little, sucking on the upstroke, Derek's reaction was definitely worth it. Derek buried on hand in Stiles' hair (Stiles had never been so glad about his decision to let it grow out) and fisted the other into the sheets, trembling with the effort not to thrust up. Stiles was grateful for that. He wasn't quite sure how to take more of Derek's cock into his mouth without bringing his teeth into the game. Pornos were surprisingly unhelpful as research material when it came to the practical side of sucking cock.

Stiles adjusted his grip, covering the bits he couldn't take into his mouth with his hand and letting his other hand travel down to Derek's balls. After a few minutes, Stiles started to get the hang of it. He rolled or lightly squeezed Derek's balls in one hand, rubbed his shaft with the other and used his lips and his tongue on the head, licking and sucking and kissing until Derek started panting and nearly howled in pleasure.

Stiles moved his tongue, rubbing it along the ridge of the underside of the head. Derek let out a surprised cry and then Stiles' gagged and coughed when Derek's come hit the back of his mouth. Stiles pulled off and felt a few more strands of come hit his neck and chest.

Stiles leaned back on Derek's legs and looked down at his lover. Derek looked completely debauched. His hair was disheveled and his lips were wet and swollen. His skin was dotted with love bites and there was a smear of semen on his hip where Stiles had grabbed him to steady himself.

Derek bucked his legs and hooked his hands into the waistband of Stiles' pants. "What do you want, Derek?"

Derek's lips twisted up into a dirty smile that sent heat pooling Stiles' stomach. "I want you to come up here, kiss me until you're so desperate that you're humping my leg," Derek said, pulling at Stiles until Stiles followed his unspoken command and spread out on top of him. Derek pressed a small, almost chase kiss to his lips and put his cheek next to Stiles'. "And then, when you're so desperate you can't even see straight, I really want you to fuck me," he whispered into Stiles ear.

Stiles gulped.

Derek smirked and Stiles' stomach clenched in anticipation. "Come here."

Derek kissed like he did everything else: with angry determination. His tongue invaded Stiles' mouth, licking into every corner. Stiles met his tongue eagerly. They kissed deeply, playfully, chasing each others' tongues. They kissed bitingly, too, nipping at each others' lips, clinking teeth. And they kissed softly, gently, with soft lips and wet touches. They kissed until Stiles was rubbing himself on Derek's leg and Derek laughed.

"Come on," he said. "You're overdressed. Get this off."

"Are you sure you want me to—"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Okay, yes!"

Stiles scrambled off the bed and ripped pants off, annoyance and arousal warring for attention. If he ever thought seeing Derek Hale in the throes of passion would be enough to curb the low-level annoyance he felt almost every time he was in Derek's presence: it wasn't. That didn't really stop Stiles from finding him hot as fuck, though.

Digging through his bedside table, Stiles pulled out a condom and a tube of lube. When he turned back around, Derek was on his stomach, looking at Stiles over his shoulder. Stiles breath caught in his throat at the sight of Derek presenting himself like that. With shaking hands, Stiles opened the lube and squeezed a healthy dollop into his hand. He wanted to know if Derek had done this before, slept with a guy or had anal sex with a girlfriend, but it seemed rude to ask. He took his time stretching Derek. Whether he had experience with ass fucking or not, the eclipse meant he would have normal, human healing until sunrise. Anything less than a thorough preparation would hurt.

"Come on, Stiles, hurry it up!"

"Ha!" Stiles shook his head, but reached for the condom with his free hand. "You'll regret those words when I inevitably come way too soon. Trust me."

"Just get on with it, Stiles." He wriggled his ass invitingly and Stiles moaned.

"Are you sure you're stretched enough? The internet is a glorious if terrifying place and all the sites agree that there is no such thing as too much preparation or too much lube." Despite his words, Stiles wiped his hands on the bed sheet and tried to open the condom wrapper.

Derek slapped at his too-slick fingers and opened the condom wrapper without problems. "It's fine."

"I've only used two fingers so far. It'll burn."

"It's _fine_ ," Derek repeated.

Stiles didn't move to take the condom Derek offered, so Derek pinched the tip and slowly rolled it down on Stiles' erection. Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming right then and there.

"Maybe I want it to burn," Derek said, voice low and gravelly. "Maybe, when I wake up in the morning, just before sunrise, _just before I heal_ , I want to be able to feel the soreness and the uncomfortable, painful pull of skin around my asshole. Maybe I'll want to feel the reminder of tonight; that it actually happened and that it isn't perfect, maybe not even good. But that it was real."

Stiles let out a choked up moan and raked his fingers through Derek's hair. "This is real. Derek, whatever happens between us tomorrow or in the future… tonight, this? It's about as real as I get."

Derek held his gaze for a few seconds, then nodded.

Stiles had a brief moment of panic. What if he came before his cock even touched Derek's asshole? What if he came as soon as he was inside Derek? Arousal won out over anxiety, though, and Stiles slowly pushed into Derek.

Derek hissed in pain, but his hands on Stiles' hips kept urging him on.

"You okay?"

Derek hummed his assent and then pushed his ass back at Stiles. "Fuck me."

Stiles' hips moved without conscious thought, thrusting and grinding against Derek at an erratic pace. Stiles lasted longer than he thought he would, mostly because he got distracted by Derek's tattoo, licking along the three arms of the triskele until the black ink shone wetly. Derek's bare, unmarked shoulders were distracting, too, and Stiles busied himself sucking more hickeys onto Derek's shoulders. But it was only when he bit down a little too hard and Derek bucked back against him, mewling in pleasure that Stiles lost it and came, hips jerking frantically.

* * *

Stiles' bed was narrow - too narrow for two grown men - but they made it work. Derek was on his back, with his arm slung around Stiles' middle and his nose buried in Stiles' hair while Stiles had his back to the wall, curling into Derek's side with his head on Derek's shoulder.

Derek did wake up shortly before dawn, feeling sore and exhausted and used in all the right ways. He didn't want to, but his mind automatically compared Stiles and Jennifer. The night he spent with Jennifer had been …nice. It had been what he wanted at the time, what he'd needed to let himself heal and relax enough to get a good night's sleep. But if he was honest with himself then he couldn't imagine spending the night of the lunar eclipse in her bed, letting himself being vulnerable with her.

Stiles… Stiles was complicated. The sex had been clumsy and a little hurried and probably a really fucking bad idea, but Derek felt rested and safe and …balanced in a way he hadn't been for a long time. They'd have to talk about a lot of things, figure out where they went from there. The Nemeton had awakened and Stiles and the pack (packs? Where did Scott stand these days? And what about his own powers? He had killed Deucalion, but would his powers transfer to Derek or would the eclipse negate the effect?) were going to be at the center of it.

Somehow, Derek knew, they'd muddle through.

They always did.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for minor character death: Kali and Deucalion are killed in this story.


End file.
